Parsha Behar-Bechukotai – As broadcast on Chai FM

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One of the most famous places in Jewish history is Mount Sinai, where G-d gave us the Torah three thousand three hundred and twenty-four years ago – the anniversary of which we will celebrate on the upcoming festival of Shavuot. Mount Sinai is so much a part of the Jewish psyche and who we are, but surely what was given – G-d’s Torah – is more important than where it was given; why, then, is there such emphasis on the place, Sinai? Why has it become so important to us?

This question comes up in this week’s parsha – a double portion, Behar-Bechukotai – which begins with Vayedaber Hashem el Moshe Behar Sinai, “Hashem spoke to Moshe on Mount Sinai.” The parsha then details the laws of the sabbatical year, making specific mention that these laws were given at Mount Sinai. Rashi comments that this is to teach us that all of the laws – the general principles and the details thereof – were given at Mount Sinai. But why is there such emphasis on place? We see this again in the last verse of the second portion, Bechukotai, which says Eileh hamitzvot asher tziva Hashem et moshe el Bnei Yisrael behar Sinai, “These are the commandments which G-d commanded Moshe for the children of Israel on Mount Sinai.” Again, place is emphasised. Why?

This question can equally be asked on the very first Mishnah of Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of the Fathers, which begins with a detailed list of how the Torah was passed down from generation to generation: Moshe kibel Torah miSinai, “Moses received the Torah from Sinai.” The Maharal of Prague asks why Sinai is emphasised. It should have said Moshe received the Torah from G-d. Why does it say Sinai? Is seems as if the Mishnah is giving more emphasis to the place rather than to what was actually given there. How do we understand this?

The significance of Sinai

The Maharal explains that the Mishnah emphasises Sinai to show that the Torah was given somewhere, not just anywhere, and this teaches us that the Torah is fixed and important. By way of analogy, let’s say you have something important to tell somebody. The one scenario is that you bump into them at the shops and while you are standing in the aisles doing your Shabbos shopping, you tell them the important bit of information. Contrast this type of encounter with one where you make an appointment to see the person at his office, and you meet at a designated time to go through the information. It may be the same content, but the two scenarios are in entirely different contexts. The one is casual; the other is serious and conveys importance. The Maharal says that the fact that so much emphasis is given to Mount Sinai teaches us about the importance of the Torah. It’s so important, that G-d didn’t just happen to give it to us in a casual encounter but set aside a time and a place to give it to us, in a serious, meaningful encounter in a specific, designated place.

Taking our relationship with G-d seriously

We find this concept of taking matters seriously versus casually in our second portion, where G-d warns the people lest they relate to Him in a casual, haphazard fashion. It says in chapter 26 verse 23, vahalachtem imi b’keri, “if you walk with G-d in a casual, indifferent fashion.” What does it mean to take G-d casually?

Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik offers an explanation, in his discussion of Kedushat HaMakom, the concept of “sanctity of place.” We know that G-d has many names although He is One, with each name reflecting a different aspect of Him. One of G-d’s Names is HaMakom, “The Place,” which according to the Talmud reflects the fact that the world is not the place of G-d but rather G-d is the place of the world; He contains it, not the other way around. Rav Soloveitchik expands on this in describing the difference between a nomadic existence and a civilised one. In early civilisation, human beings were nomads, wandering from place to place to wherever the grazing was good; once the grazing ran out, they would move on to the next place. Eventually civilisation advanced and human beings stopped being nomads and started living in cities. There are two main differences between a nomad and a civilised person: one is that the nomad is purely selfish, taking what he can while the grazing is good and then moving on. The other is that the nomad cannot form any emotional bond with the place where he is at, because he is only there for a short while. In contrast, a civilised person does not live selfishly but is part of a community; and civilised human beings form an attachment to their dwelling place. There may be a drought one year or other troubles, but they stay because they belong there.

Rav Soloveitchik says that our Judaism and our relationship with Hashem – HaMakom – has to be one of attachment to a permanent “place.” We must not relate to it as though we are spiritual nomads, wandering here and there just to get a bit of inspiration and abandoning everything once the inspiration is gone or when difficulties arise.

This idea of permanently inhabiting a conceptual place relates to everything in life – for example, marriage: the nomadic philosophy of marriage maintains that you don’t get married, you just live together. While the relationship is good, you stay in it; and as soon as there is any sort of challenge, you move out. But the Torah’s view of marriage is that it is a relationship premised on commitment. There will be good times and there will be more challenging times, but you stay because you are committed to the relationship and are willing to move beyond self. A Jewish family should be built to last and therefore it must be built on the foundations of Torah, of commitment and loyalty. Only something established on Torah principles has the ability to endure forever.

In our service of G-d, says Rav Soloveitchik, we cannot just be spiritual nomads, selfishly wandering from place to place seeking inspiration. Our relationship with Judaism and with Hashem has to be one of a bonding and commitment to a place – HaMakom. Real commitment requires selflessness, but is truly rewarding because only with real commitment is there an emotional bond and the ability to achieve something meaningful. Without commitment, everything is regarded casually and there is no permanence to the relationship.

This is the meaning of the Maharal’s explanation on the Mishnah mentioned above. Sinai is emphasised to show that we have to attach ourselves to the conceptual and spiritual “place” of the Torah. Sinai represents this bond and commitment, where our Judaism is not casual but fixed and taken seriously. Hence Sinai is so important to us, because only things which are fixed have enduring value.

The permanence of Torah  

It’s not coincidental, then, that the Torah was given on a mountain. A mountain symbolises something which is immovable, as indicated by the expression “to move mountains” – which implies that you actually can’t. The Torah is fixed; it is the pillar of eternal truth in the world. If we want to build an enduring family, an enduring community, it has to be built on Torah principles. This is referred to in the Mishnah in Pirkei Avot which says Kol knesiya shehi l’shem shamayim sofa lehitkayem, “any community dedicated to heaven will endure  forever,” meaning a community dedicated to G-d and to the eternal Torah values and principles which have been with us for generations. In fact, the Avot d’Rabi Natan, the Talmudic commentary on Pirkei Avot, says that knesiya shehi l’shem shamayim, a community dedicated to heaven, refers to the community that stood at Mount Sinai. When we live in accordance with the Torah’s principles, we are connected to that eternal, enduring community which began at Mount Sinai. We become part of a long history of Jews, connecting with eternity.

Generation Sinai and Sinai Indaba

Sinai is not just the place where the Torah happened to be given, but represents the fact that Torah is a permanent and an important part of who we are. If we want permanence and stability in our lives, then we have to be anchored in Torah values. Hence the names of two major upcoming events in our community – Generation Sinai and Sinai Indaba – have the word Sinai in them. If we want to build a thriving South African Jewish community, we have to build it on the enduring values of our Torah, given at Sinai.

Generation Sinai will take place please G-d this coming Tuesday, on Rosh Chodesh Sivan. Thousands of parents and children across all of our Jewish day schools will gather to learn in a spirit of unity and togetherness. The programme is called “Generation Sinai: Sharing our Legacy,” conveying that the Torah’s values are the foundation of building and nurturing strong Jewish families in our community; they are our connection to all the generations that came before us and to all the generations that will come after.

The second event, Sinai Indaba, coming up on the weekend of June 16^th, conveys this idea as well. Outstanding speakers from all over the world and from all different fields of human endeavour will be coming to share, inspire and empower us with their unique perspectives within the eternal values of our Torah, and how these relate to everyday life – be it in marriage, parenting, business ethics or politics. Torah is timeless, relating to all kinds of modern phenomena; there is nothing that isn’t covered by the wide ambit of Torah. It is these Torah principles which give meaning to everything we do, and they are the secret of Jewish continuity throughout history, going all the way back to our formation as a nation at Sinai. We come from Sinai, and that gives us the vision and motivation to go forward and build a thriving, dynamic community.

The key, of course, is your participation. We are all in this together, building our community. Generation Sinai is dependent on parents and grandparents participating like they did last year, which was a phenomenal success. So be sure to diarise it: this coming Tuesday. Be in touch with your schools, they will be sending out information about the program. Be sure to diarise Sinai Indaba as well, on the weekend of the June 16^th.  I encourage you to go onto the website to make your booking, www.sinai-indaba.co.za.

We’re all in this together. Let us embrace our legacy and work together to build a wonderful Jewish community.

Parsha Emor – As broadcast on Chai FM

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Time is something we deal with every single day of our lives. But what is it? It is so familiar that we don’t think much of it even though we are constantly looking at our watches and are very conscious of time. But if we take a step back to understand time properly, we can transform the way we look at life.

The Chafetz Chaim once asked someone who had travelled to America what people in America say, and the traveller answered that in America people say “time is money”; the Chafetz Chaim responded, “time is life.” Time is all that life is – the minutes, the hours, the 120 years we have on this earth, please G-d. Life is what we make of time, and so if we understand time, we will understand life.

Counting the omer

In this week’s parsha, Parshat Emor, we have the mitzvah of counting the omer, Sefirat Ha’omer. We start counting the omer from the second day of Pesach, all through the 49 days leading up to Shavuot. We count not only the days – “today is the first day of the omer,” “today is the second day of the omer,” – but the weeks as well. We say, “today is the seventh day, which is one week of the omer,” totalling seven complete weeks linking Pesach to Shavuot.

What is the meaning behind this mitzvah?

The Sefer Hachinuch explains that we count in anticipation of Shavuot, the day we celebrate the giving of the Torah. We left Egypt on Pesach and journeyed through the desert to receive the Torah at Mount Sinai seven weeks later. The counting between Pesach and Shavuot represents how the whole purpose of the Exodus from Egypt was so that we would have the privilege and merit of receiving G-d’s Torah at Mount Sinai. By counting, we demonstrate our anticipation and appreciation of the Torah, our special gift from G-d. 

But there is another dimension to this mitzvah: it is about the counting of time. By understanding Judaism’s philosophy of time, we can understand Judaism’s philosophy of life and the significance of the mitzvah of Sefirat Ha’omer.

How we relate to time reflects our attitude toward life

The Dubna Magid, who was famous throughout Eastern Europe for his ability to explain the deepest philosophical teachings in the most practical, concrete way, looks at Sefirat Ha’omer from a philosophical point of view. What is interesting about this mitzvah is that according to many opinions, it is one continuous mitzvah comprised of 49 parts; hence if we miss a day, although we continue to count, we do so without a blessing. It’s still important to continue counting even without the blessing, but ideally we should try to remember to count every day so that we can complete the mitzvah in its entirety. Why is the counting of the omer cumulative? Furthermore, why do we count the weeks as well – “today is fifteen days, which is two weeks and one day of the omer” – and not just the days? 

The Dubna Magid explains that our relationship with time, how we relate to the past and to the future, reflects who we are and whether we are following the path of Torah and righteousness or not. Some people view the whole purpose of life as merely the pursuit of pleasure; time on this earth is limited and so their attitude is, “let’s eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die.” For such people, says the Dubna Magid, the past is an enemy and the future is a friend because the pleasures enjoyed in the past are gone; one can’t get them back and so only the future holds promise. As a simple example, the chocolate bars you had yesterday are gone. You can’t enjoy them now. The past is an enemy; you wish you hadn’t eaten all those chocolates because you can’t enjoy them now. It’s actually painful to think about the past because it’s gone. But if someone were to offer you chocolate now, you would want it. Thus, the future is promising while the past is an enemy.  

As a person ages, the past becomes longer and the future becomes shorter. For the righteous, however, it’s different. When the purpose of life is not just self-gratification but doing mitzvahs and good deeds, we are able to transcend time because good deeds are eternal. We take them with us to Olam Haba, the World to Come, and they stand us in good stead forever. When we can look back with satisfaction on all that we have done in life then the past is indeed a friend. The future is uncertain because we have to continue doing good deeds throughout life, but time passing need not make us feel anxious. It all depends on our attitude: if our purpose in life is purely the pursuit of pleasure, then the past is going to provoke anxiety. But if our purpose in life is pursuing good deeds, we can look back on the past with a sense of accomplishment.

The Dubna Magid quotes the verse in Tehillim which says Ki elef shanim b’eynecha k’yom etmol, “in Your eyes, G-d, a thousand years is like a bygone yesterday.” Obviously from G-d’s perspective time has no meaning; He is above time. But the Dubna Magid explains that throughout Tanach the number one-thousand always symbolizes maximum numeracy. Thus the verse is saying that even a thousand years, once they’ve already passed, are just a bygone yesterday. If our whole focus is self-gratification, even if life were a thousand years long it would still not be enough; it would feel like one day that has passed and wouldn’t bring us one more moment of joy. Hence a person looking back on life might despair, because it’s gone. But a person living a life of good deeds has no reason to despair.

Cumulative time

The Dubna Magid says further that there is another major difference between the pleasure-oriented approach to time and the Torah-oriented approach. He explains these two ways of relating to time using the following analogy: there are two paupers going begging from door to door. The one, as soon as he gets a coin, spends it. He goes to the next door, gets another coin and spends it as well. At the end of the day, at the end of the week, he has nothing saved, just one coin in his hand. The other pauper collects from door to door but doesn’t spend the money immediately. He starts to save and after a week he has a number of coins which he then converts into a more valuable currency. At the end of the month he has a substantial amount of money which he invests in something with long-term value. Slowly, he begins to build his financial future. After a few years he has something substantial to show for all his efforts while the first pauper still has only one coin in his hand.

This analogy explains the two approaches to time. If our goal in life is solely self-gratification, then our approach to time is to focus only on the moment; and then, before we know it, it’s gone. However, if our goal in life is doing mitzvahs and good deeds, then time has a cumulative effect. The past has great value upon which we build all the time, adding more and more building blocks of good deeds. When we leave this earth and our souls return to Hashem, those who have lived a life of selfish pursuits return to Hashem empty-handed. They have spent all their coins, they have wasted their time. However the righteous who have spent a lifetime accumulating deeds of eternal value return to Hashem with all their good deeds and mitzvahs.

Thus we see that our approach to time is really how we approach life. The Dubna Magid explains another verse in Tehillim which says that the days of a person’s life are k’tzel oveir, “like a passing shadow.” The Midrash on this verse says that k’tzel oveir, a passing shadow, is referring to the shadow of a bird as it flies overhead. The shadow just flits across the ground and is gone. This, says the Midrash, is life – a passing shadow. The Dubna Magid explains that if one lives for the here and now, for the immediate gratification and self-centred pursuits, then life is indeed like a passing shadow – the past is gone, the future is unknown and the present is but a mere split second. But if one lives a life of Torah, mitzvahs and accumulating good deeds then life has eternal value.

What is even more amazing is that the Torah allows us to accumulate good deeds even retroactively. If a person truly repents he or she can change the sins of the past into good deeds, as long as there is sincere regret and resolve not to sin again. This is the tremendous power that Hashem has given us over time: by repenting we can actually reverse the past and transform our losses into gains.

Building Time

The counting of the omer teaches us not only how to count time but how to make time count. When we count the omer, we say, “today is day one,” “today is day two,” and so forth. We have to count all 49 days to fulfil the mitzvah properly. We don’t just look at each day by itself; rather, it is a cumulative mitzvah, with each day building on the previous one.

Not only do the days build on each other but we count them in weeks as well, representing that our days and our deeds are not disjointed but are building on each other all the time. The days turn into weeks and the weeks accumulate to seven complete weeks, all as one unified whole. This is the Torah’s philosophy of time. If we live a life of Torah and mitzvahs then we are able to view our lives as a cumulative whole rather than as fragmented parts. It is within our hands to make life meaningful, and if we do so, time is not an enemy. Time is a friend, the past is a friend and everything we do becomes meaningful.

Now we can understand why the counting of the omer is a necessary prerequisite to Shavuot. Before we celebrate the receiving of the Torah on the festival of Shavuot we have to gain an understanding of time because time is life. We have to develop our fundamental philosophy of what the purpose of life is, and to develop the proper perspective on time. Ultimately, how we relate to time is how we relate to life itself.

Acharei Mot-Kedoshim – As broadcast of Chai FM

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The Torah contains all the wisdom we need for life; it is our guidance from Hashem as to what we have to do. But often the question of interpretation is raised: how do we interpret the Torah? We know that G-d gave us a written Torah – what we call the Torah Shebichtav – and He also gave us an oral Torah – the Torah Sheb’al Peh. The oral Torah, contained in the Mishnah and the Gemara, enables us to understand what Hashem has conveyed to us in the written Torah.

This relates poignantly to a verse in the second parsha of this week’s double portion, Acharei Mot-Kedoshim, which says, Lifnei ivver lo tittein michshol, “do not put a stumbling block before the blind.”

The Gemara tells us that there were groups, called the Kutim and the Kara’im (the Karaites), who did not accept the Oral tradition. These sects interpreted this verse literally, maintaining rather simply that the prohibition is against placing an obstacle in the path of a blind person.

But the oral tradition, given by G-d at Mount Sinai together with the written Torah and passed down from generation to generation, has given us a tradition to interpret this verse more broadly. Rashi quotes one such interpretation and explains that this verse is a prohibition against knowingly giving a person bad advice. Someone who doesn’t know what to do and is seeking advice is “blind” in that respect. We are prohibited from misleading people by giving advice which is to their detriment. 

Another application which the Gemara discusses in a number of places is a case where one causes or facilitates another to sin, when the person would otherwise be unable to commit it. For example, the Gemara discusses a case of two people on either side of a river, one of them a Nazir, who is prohibited from drinking wine. The Nazir can’t reach a wine bottle which is on the other side of the river and so he asks the other person to pass it to him. To pass the wine to the Nazir would be a transgression of the prohibition of “do not put a stumbling block before the blind.” The Gemara gives the specific example of a Nazir, but the principle equally applies to any other prohibited item – for example, non-kosher meat. If one passes non-kosher meat to another, he has transgressed this prohibition because in effect these people are blinded by their desires to eat non-kosher food.

This prohibition is applicable only in a case where the person would otherwise not be able to obtain the forbidden item. The Gemara explains that in a situation where the person could get it himself and another person is just helping him – for example, if the Nazir asks someone to pass the bottle of wine even though he could fetch it himself – then this prohibition has not been transgressed because the Nazir could technically get the wine even without assistance. However, it is important to note that in such a situation, although one hasn’t transgressed the Biblical prohibition of not putting a stumbling block before the blind, there is a rabbinic decree known as mesayeia lidvar aveira, which says one may not be an accomplice to sin.

Thus we have an erroneous, literal interpretation of the Karaites of “do not put a stumbling block before a blind person,” and the correct, broader understanding based on the oral tradition, which says the verse is referring to giving bad advice or causing another to sin.

The link between the oral Torah and the written Torah

This discussion goes to the heart of the question of how to understand the Torah. When we talk about the Torah, we are not only talking about the Five Books of the Chumash but about the oral tradition as well, which was given by G-d at Mount Sinai and passed down from generation to generation till eventually it was codified in the Mishnah and the Gemara. From the perspective of authentic Judaism, the Torah Sheb’al Peh and the Torah Shebichtav – the written and the oral – cannot be separated. They can only be understood in combination. For example, regarding the mitzvah of tefillin, the Torah says Ukshartem otam le’ot al yedchem vehayu letotafot bein eineichem, “you must tie them as a sign on your arm and letotafot between your eyes.” The word totafot does not appear anywhere else in the Torah, and the Torah itself does not explain what it means. But the oral tradition does. It tells us what tefillin look like and which portions of the Torah go inside them; it tells us that they have to be square, that they have to be black and that the leather straps have to be black as well. All of this is not found in the written Torah, only in the oral tradition. This is but one more example of many which demonstrate that the written Torah can only be understood together with the oral tradition.

Throughout history there have been many sects which sought to undermine authentic Judaism. We saw this very prominently in the 19^th century with the Haskalah, the so-called enlightenment movement, whose proponents attacked many aspects of authentic Judaism. One of the aspects they attacked was the oral tradition. In their heresy they viewed the Bible as a form of Jewish “literature,” disconnected from G-d, and completely disregarded the Divinely given oral Torah as recorded in the various works of the Talmud, including the Mishnah, Gemara and Midrash. They sought to sever the connection between these two bodies of wisdom – the written and oral Torah – that Hashem gave us at Mount Sinai. In reaction to this movement, a group of authentic Torah scholars rose up to defend the link between the written Torah and the oral Torah. Among these were Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch; the Netziv, Rav Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin of Volozhin; and the author of the Ketav Vehakalaba, Rav Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenberg, all great commentators who came to defend and demonstrate the inextricable link between the written Torah and the oral tradition.

Rabbi Hirsch explains, by way of analogy, that the relationship between the written Torah and the oral Torah is like a lecture. The written Torah is like the shorthand notes of the lecture, which are not understandable unless one has been in the lecture. They are there to serve as a frame of reference, but the full lecture can only be understood by having the broader perspective, namely, knowing the oral Torah. The one cannot be understood without the other and therefore to sever the two is to challenge what authentic Judaism is all about.

Moral and spiritual blindness

Another one of the great commentators who defended the connection between the written Torah and the oral tradition is the Malbim. He explains on the verse “do not put a stumbling block before the blind” that whenever the word ivver,  “blind,” appears in Tanach it always refers not only to physical blindness but to moral and spiritual blindness as well. He brings as a proof-text the verse in Parshat Shoftim, which says a judge may not accept a bribe, ki hashochad ye’aver einei chachamim, “because bribery makes the wise blind.” Thus we see that blindness refers not only to physical blindness, but connotes a spiritual or moral blindness.

Furthermore, says the Malbim, if the prohibition was against placing a physical obstacle before a blind person, it would have said lo tassim, “you may not place a stumbling block before a blind person,” and not lo tittein. Tittein means to “give” something, while tassim means to “place” something. If the verse were simply talking about not putting a stumbling block before a blind person, it would have said tassim and not tittein. From the fact that the Torah uses the word tittein we see that the verse is referring to something that one gives – namely, advice. This further proves the connection between the oral tradition and the written Torah, and demonstrates that the oral tradition was not just imposed on the written Torah, but is an inseparable part of it and in fact is alluded to in it.

The commentaries on Rashi – the Siftei Chachamim and the Gur Aryeh – explain that we know this verse refers to the prohibition against giving bad advice because the ending of the verse is Veyareita meElokecha Ani Hashem, “and you shall fear your G-d, I am the Lord.” Rashi explains on the latter part of this verse that the mandate to fear G-d is mentioned in the context of prohibitions against sins of the heart, for which one can’t get caught because no one but G-d knows the truth. When you give others advice which is to their detriment, you can’t get caught because even if the advice turns out to be bad, there is no way to prove that that was your intention Advice given in good faith can still turn out to be the wrong advice; there is no way of knowing whether your intentions were genuine or not. Only G-d can know, and this is why the verse concludes “and you shall fear your G-d, I am the Lord.” The commentaries on Rashi explain that from the fact that the verse concludes with the mandate to fear G-d we see that it cannot be referring literally to putting a stumbling block before the blind, because that is something others can see. Rather, the verse is referring to a broader meaning, namely, the prohibition of giving bad advice.

What emerges from the Malbim and the other commentaries is that the oral tradition is not something which is external to the text, but rather is an integral part of it. If one looks carefully through the text of the written Torah, one can see allusions to the oral tradition; it is indeed the shorthand of the broader lecture. Unfortunately still today there are people who twist the meaning of the Torah, and superimpose their own philosophy on it. But this is precisely why we have the oral tradition – to clarify exactly what the text means and to give us the parameters of G-d’s words.

Responsibility toward our fellow human beings

Taking this one step further, if we look at the difference between the literal interpretation and the one based on the oral tradition, we will see that the oral tradition on this verse of not putting a stumbling block before the blind gives us a much broader perspective as to our responsibility toward our fellow human beings. We are responsible not only for their physical welfare, namely, not to put a stumbling block in their way – that’s obvious; the Torah is teaching us a far more sophisticated lesson, and that is that we are obligated to look after each other’s spiritual and moral welfare as well. Kol Yisrael areivim zeh la’zeh, we are all connected and are responsible for each other. We need to help each other do mitzvahs and help prevent each other from sinning; and certainly we must not be accomplices to sin in any way.

Lastly, we learn from this verse what a high level of ethical conduct and integrity the Torah requires of us. In his classic work Mesilat Yesharim, the Ramchal, Rav Moshe Chaim Luzzatto of 18^th-century Italy, says that this prohibition refers not only to  wilfully giving bad advice but even to situations where one gives sound, good advice yet where one’s personal interests are involved. We can understand the prohibition against wilfully giving someone bad advice in order to take advantage of them – for example, advising someone to sell his house because you want to buy it; that is obviously unethical. However sometimes you give a person advice which is intended for the good, but you also have a vested interest in it. The Ramchal writes that if someone comes to you for advice and you give them advice which you honestly believe is for their benefit but you also have a vested interest in the outcome, you have to declare that personal interest. Furthermore, says the Ramchal, if you feel you can’t declare your interest because the information is too personal, then you are not allowed to give the advice. One cannot appear to be a neutral, objective outsider when in fact one has a vested interest.

One might ask, is giving sound, good advice – albeit with a personal gain in mind – such a serious offence? The Sefer Hachinuch answers this question. He discusses the importance of this mitzvah and explains that civilization functions based on the fact that we are social beings. We regularly look to other people for confirmation, for ideas, for advice about what we should or should not do. In fact, most industries and businesses are based on giving advice: the financial services industry, insurance brokerage, legal firms, accounting firms, medical professionals, mechanics, salesmen and many other business relationships are all based on giving advice in some way. If we are in a position of giving advice, not only does our advice have to be with the client’s best interest in mind, we have to declare our own interest upfront.

But who will ensure that the service provider operates with integrity? No one can police that, and this is why the verse concludes Veyareita meElokecha Ani Hashem, “you shall fear your G-d.” Only G-d can know what is in our hearts.

Thus the ancient debate regarding how to interpret this verse – in its literal, simplistic form or in its figurative, ethical sense – teaches us about the fullness of the Torah – the written and the oral – and the importance of integrity, ethical conduct and our responsibility toward our fellow human beings.

And yet, the sacredness of memory and the commandments to remember are important parts of Judaism: “Remember the day you left Egypt”; “Be careful lest you forget what your eyes saw … on the day you stood before G-d at Sinai”; “Remember the Shabbat day”. This deep moral appreciation for human memory has, over thousands of years, seeped into the Jewish psyche and as a result the State of Israel and Jews around the world excel at memorials and at remembering. Yom HaZikaron, Yom HaShoah, museums, memorial centers are so much a part of modern Jewish life. How do we make sense of all of this?

“There is no forgetfulness before Your throne of glory.” These words of our Sages are the secret to understanding the concept of memory. Human memory is indeed fleeting and is as temporary as the human body, which comes from dust and returns to dust. But G-d is eternal and He gave the gift of immortality to the soul which He implanted in a brittle body; and He also gave the gift of eternity to our deeds in this world. No deed – great or small, good or bad – is forgotten by G-d. Every mitzva a person does in this world has eternal merit before Hashem, who gathers together and records every action of every human being throughout the billions of lives over all of these millennia. “For a thousand years in Your eyes is like yesterday that has passed” (Tehillim 90). From G-d’s perspective the passage of time means nothing. The soul and its legacy of deeds in this world are forever.

And so, as the people and the State of Israel gathered on Yom HaZikaron and Jewish communities throughout the Diaspora joined in solidarity with memorial services on all continents of the globe, we all did so in the comfort of knowing that the legacy of our fallen heroes is not dependent on the fleeting fragility of our mortal memories and our temporary earthly lives. True remembrance only resides with G-d. The souls of the fallen soldiers stand before G-d forever with eternal merit – the merit of defending the State and the people of Israel and Jews around the world, the merit of their bravery and absolute selflessness in sacrificing life itself so that their fellow Jews can live in safety and security. These holy souls and their holy actions are never forgotten by G-d and their merit is eternal, more eternal than anything we know of in this physical world. And so too on Yom Shoah we take strength in knowing that the six million holy souls of those murdered in the Holocaust are “bound up in the eternal bond of life” with G-d Himself, Who continually gives them eternal reward and blessing for their horrific suffering and painful martyrdom which they endured for His sake.

The memory and eternal merit of the righteous heroes of the past are not in our hands. They don’t need us for that. And indeed we couldn’t even begin to do that for them. How can we temporal beings bestow eternity on others? “Yizkor”, the great remembrance prayer of Jewish tradition, says “Yizkor Elokim” – may G-d remember, not us – because only He can; it is only with the Eternal One, Who was, is and always will be, that any concept of eternity exists.

This begs the question: if human memory is so fleeting and futile why are there so many commandments in the Torah to remember? Perhaps, the secret to understanding this lies in the commandment, “Remember the Shabbat day to keep it holy”. How can the concept of memory possibly apply to something which occurs each week? Clearly, from a Torah perspective, memory is not only about remembering past events but about remembering the ideas which emerge from those events and keeping them in the forefront of our hearts and minds for today and the future. Thus, the commandment to remember Shabbat is not merely about remembering the very first Shabbat in history, but about living today with an awareness of the Shabbat principles of faith in G-d as a loving, involved and awesome Creator. Certain defining events of the past are moral signposts for how to live today, and we are called upon to remember them. Remembering the Exodus from Egypt is about understanding that we were born into slavery and were freed by G-d; and that our faith in Him, as our liberator and a director of history, is central to our identity and destiny. Remembering the experience of receiving the Torah from G-d at Mount Sinai is about embracing our Divine mission, moral vision and duties for today and into the future. 

From these mitzvot we learn how to remember the past. Remembering our fallen soldiers is not about granting them immortality – only G-d can do that – but it is to sensitize us to acknowledge with humble gratitude their sacrifices on our behalf, and to ensure that the bereaved families are properly respected and cared for. It is not about our fleeting memories of the past, but about the moral imperative of how we live in the present. Likewise, on Yom HaShoah, how can we the audacity to claim that the holy memories of those who were murdered are in our hands to preserve? Their souls are in G-d’s loving hands and it is He who bestows eternal merit on them. We remember in order to fulfill our moral duty to feel the agony and tragedy of our people in the darkness of the death camps, and for us, with respect and trepidation, to acknowledge their suffering and horrors.

As we remember the heroes and martyrs of the past we learn what true immortality is about. As we reflect on the generations who have left this world we realize how fleeting and almost pathetic life is. As the verses from Tehilim recited before Yizkor say: “But what is man that You notice him? Man is like a fleeting breath. His days are like a passing shadow. In the morning he blossoms and is rejuvenated and by evening is cut down and brittle.”   And yet there is a very deep psychological need for immortality. The Tree of Life was the tempting counterpart to the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden. People are constantly seeking ways to grasp some fragment of immortality. Our physical bodies are indeed fleeting; however, through our souls G-d has placed immortality at the heart of our beings. As the Yizkor verses go on to express, “The dust returns to the earth as it was, but the spirit returns to G-d Who gave it”. How pathetic and empty is any attempt to find immortality in the dust of the physical world. No building, monument, or physical memorial of this world can ever give a person the gift of immortality. The only eternal monuments of our lives are the good deeds we take with us when our immortal souls return to G-d after leaving the physical world, thereby fulfilling the final of the Yizkor verses, “I, in righteousness, will see Your face, and be blessed with a vision of You when I awake.”

Parsha Tazria-Metzora – As broadcast on Chai FM

Download audio file (280412TazriaMetzora.mp3)

Read edited transcript

Throughout history there have been times when the Jewish people, as a whole, have been more observant and other times less so. Yet our Sages in the Talmud predicted that there would be one mitzvah that would be consistently and loyally kept by the Jewish people, and that is the mitzvah of Bris Milah, circumcision.

If you think about it, circumcision doesn’t seem like the obvious choice of a mitzvah for our Sages to predict would always be kept. It requires a lot of commitment and loyalty to Judaism to take an eight-day-old baby and circumcise him. And yet Jews have always kept it because it represents our covenant with Hashem with prophetic vision. Our Sages predicted that it would always be part of the Jewish people and we have seen this till this very day: no matter how far people drift from their Judaism, they keep Bris Milah, which tells us about the importance of what it represents. It’s not just a mitzvah, it’s a foundational mitzvah. And it’s not just about the individual’s mitzvah, but about what it means for the Jewish people as a whole.

Circumcision is such an integral part of being Jewish that it is a necessary component in the conversion process. The conversion process entails going in the mikvah, as well as circumcision if it’s a male convert. That circumcision is not performed simply as one of the six hundred and thirteen commandments which the convert now has to keep, but rather it is part of the actual conversion ceremony; without it there is no conversion. It’s part of the transition to becoming a Jew.

Bris Milah and mikvah – foundational mitzvahs in our covenant with Hashem

This week’s parsha – a double portion, Tazria-Metzora – talks about the laws of childbirth and specifically these two mitzvahs, circumcision and mikvah. The parsha deals with the laws of purity and impurity, applicable in Temple times, but also the laws of Niddah between husband and wife, applicable even today. The parsha begins with the laws of circumcision. If a male child is born he must be circumcised on the eighth day. Then the parsha carries on discussing the mother’s purification process culminating in the mikvah. These two mitzvahs – circumcision and mikvah – are foundational mitzvahs, as they represent our covenant with Hashem. Bris Milah, although it is performed on males, is a mitzvah which is connected on the entire Jewish people. In fact, the Gemara says that women are k’mehulim – they are regarded as if they are also circumcised and this binds us all in the covenant with Hashem.

There are three places in the Chumash where circumcision is discussed: firstly, when the mitzvah was given to Abraham, at the time his name was changed from Avram to Avraham and Sarai’s name was changed to Sarah. The second place that is just before the people leave Egypt, when they are commanded to bring the Korban Pesach, the very first Pesach offering. They were told that anyone who is uncircumcised may not partake of the pascal sacrifice. The third place is in our parsha, where it says that when a woman gives birth to a boy, he must be circumcised on the eighth day.

These three places where circumcision is mentioned are all crucial beginnings: the mitzvah of circumcision was given to Avraham, the founding father of the Jewish people; it was given to the Jews in Egypt, when we became a nation; and at the birth of a child, mentioned in our parsha, Bris Milah is mentioned because the birth of a child represents a new beginning as well.

It’s interesting that we are only obligated in the commandments from the age of thirteen for a boy or twelve for a girl; the only commandment we start keeping from infancy is circumcision. The Rambam writes that one of the reasons the bris is done so early is out of compassion – to put an older child through circumcision is much harder for the child, and therefore much harder for the parents. But philosophically, the reason the bris is done right away is because it’s the very foundation of the Jewish people. Bris means a covenant. It is a covenant between us and Hashem, the foundation of our relationship with Him.

The connection between Shabbos and Bris Milah

There is an interesting relationship between Bris Milah and another very important mitzvah – Shabbos. Many Torah scholars ask why a bris is done on the eighth day, as generally the number seven is the key holy number within the Torah – Shabbos is on the seventh day, the sabbatical year is the seventh year, the jubilee year is after seven cycles of the sabbatical year, there are seven weeks in the counting of the Omer. Why, then, is the bris on the eighth day?

One of the answers given in the Talmud is that so the the child will have experienced at least one Shabbos before being circumcised. Shabbos, too, is a foundational mitzvah. Already at the creation of the world, even before there was a Jewish people, G-d created Shabbos. In fact it was one of the very few mitzvahs given to the Jewish people before Mount Sinai – it was given in the desert, on their way to Mount Sinai. The baby must go through a Shabbos before his bris because Shabbos, too, is a foundational mitzvah. Rav Moshe Feinstein explains that Shabbos forms the foundation of our faith in G-d. We keep the mitzvahs not because of cultural or ethnic identity but because this is what G-d told us to do and we have faith in Him. A person who keeps the commandments but doesn’t believe that G-d exists, his commandments are meaningless. In fact, Rav Moshe brings from the Rambam that if a person who doesn’t believe in G-d writes a Sefer Torah, it has no holiness and in fact we are actually required to burn it. Writing G-d’s Names and His words has no meaning if one doesn’t believe in Him.

Shabbos takes belief in G-d to another level. It is not only an acknowledgment that G-d exists, but an acknowledgment that He created the world, is constantly involved in it and is interested in our personal lives. Shabbos teaches us that everything comes from Hashem and therefore it is the prerequisite to the bris and all of the other commandments.

Living proactively

There is one other idea I would like to share with you, which goes to the heart of what bris is all about. There is a well-known debate in the Talmud, between Rabbi Akiva and Tornus Rufus, one of the great Roman generals. Tornus Rufus said to Rabbi Akiva, whose actions are better, G-d’s or man’s? Tornus Rufus was setting Rabbi Akiva up with this question, because this led to the question of how can you bris a child. It seems such sacrilege; if G-d had wanted the baby to be circumcised, he would have made him be born brissed. To change a child whom G-d has given to you implies that G-d’s actions are not good enough. How can you justify such change?  

Rabbi Akiva answered very cleverly. He took out a loaf of bread or a cake (it’s unclear from the translation, but it was some sort of delicious pastry). He then took out stalks of wheat. He said to Tornus Rufus, which would you like to eat, what G-d created – the stalks of wheat – or the man-made bread? Obviously, he preferred the man-made food. Rabbi Akiva then said that a bris is the same thing. G-d created this world incomplete and He invites us to join Him in the process of completing it. In the words of the Talmud, each one of us is shutaf laKadsoh Baruch Hu bema’aseh bereishis, we are each partners with the Holy One, Blessed Be He, in the creation of the world. Obviously, without the stalks of wheat there would be no way to make a loaf of bread. But we must take the wheat and turn it into bread.

G-d created us uncircumcised, and in so doing he conveyed the message that human beings are not governed by nature. Nature and animals are what they are; they don’t change. An animal operates purely out of instinct. It goes on a hunt, to find grass or berries, and that’s it. A human being, in contrast, innovates and creates. G-d gave us tremendous creative powers so that we could put our stamp on the world. We are not just passive beings who happen to inhabit the world, going about our lives like the animals. The difference between human beings and animals is that human beings are proactive creators, created in G-d’s image, who are called upon to improve ourselves and the world on a physical and spiritual level – that’s why we have been given the mitzvahs.

The philosophy behind the mitzvahs is that we don’t just come into life to survive, but to become better people, to improve our character, become humble, be more compassionate, be more spiritual and more connected to G-d such that by the time we leave this world, please G-d after 120 years, we have made a difference and we have become better people than we were when we first arrived.

The Midrash, quoted in Rashi at the beginning of our parsha, points out that the end of last week’s parsha talks about the laws of purity and impurity regarding animals. Our parsha talks about the laws of purity and impurity of human beings. Rashi says this structure is similar to the order in which G-d created the world – first the animals and then human beings. This highlights the difference between animals and human beings: animals were not asked to do anything, their situation is simply described. In contrast, our parsha discusses the human condition, and that we are obligated to do something about it, beginning with circumcision and improving throughout life.

Now we can understand why circumcision is so symbolic of Judaism. It’s not just because it’s the covenant between us and Hashem; it’s more than that. The covenant being expressed in something that fundamentally changes the human being is G-d’s way of saying to us, don’t accept reality as is. Don’t accept yourself for who you are. Go and develop, grow, become a better person and live a life of mitzvahs and good deeds; make a difference and put your own stamp on the world. We have the freedom to recreate ourselves and the world around us. Circumcision represents the fundamental principle that we can change and grow. Mikvah, too, represents the principle that we can purify and change ourselves. We can overcome sin, overcome challenges and become better people, but we have to live proactively and take action.

Poverty is a problem that our community has confronted and I would say very successfully, given the nature of these problems, with the welfare and outreach initiatives that we have. But in a certain sense a more pervasive challenge is the struggle for ordinary families to come out every month. The cost of loving is high, people are paying for private medical, private education, and private security – and these costs make it increasingly difficult to come out.

But being Jewish makes everything even more expensive! Jewish Day Schools, Kosher meat and chicken…the list goes on…

There is a principle in the Gemara that says the Torah has compassion for the money of the Jewish people. 

What does this mean?

This means that there is a sensitivity in Halachah to financial hardship, going out of the way to lower the financial barriers as much as possible.

How? We can’t stop buying kosher meat surely…

No, but for example – one of the factors that a posek dealing with a complex halachic shaila (question) will consider is the financial loss that will be caused by the decision. So if there is a dispute amongst the different opinions, let’s say a more stringent and a more lenient one, the financial loss can direct the decision toward the more lenient opinion in order to alleviate that suffering, subject of course to many other conditions as well. And I must add here that the paskening of Halachah is a complex science that can never be oversimplified – I’m just giving a fraction of an idea here for us to understand this principle at play.

That’s all very well but practically this doesn’t do anything to help the problem… kosher meat is still through the roof?

Much effort has been put in from the Union of Orthodox Synagogues (UOS) to look carefully at the prices of kosher chicken, and a detailed inquiry was launched with findings – published on the UOS website for the public to see -  http://www.uos.co.za/uos/content/kashrutPriceCommision_detailed.pdf 

What was the outcome?

I would encourage anyone interested to read the report for themselves and make up their own mind. The basic findings made by independent experts were that these industries operate within the constraints of a limited market with overheads, and given this, the prices are within range of reasonableness. Economies of scale play a big part in this; approximately 600 000 kosher chickens are slaughtered in SA in an entire year. Compare this with around 80 million non-kosher chickens flooding the market per year. According to the report, it is simply not possible to maintain costs at the same level as non-kosher when volumes are so low.  

On a more positive note, if you look at the kashrut infrastructure we have here, it is quite remarkable; we can proudly boast, under our Beth Din and UOS, an internationally recognised kashrut department on a par with and, in many ways, better than the biggest agencies of America, Israel and Europe – and look at how many general products are available to the kosher consumer (approx.. 13000 and climbing each day).

Obviously there are no easy solutions. Financial stress is a very difficult issue for people and it would be wrong to minimise it, but there is also a question of attitude and mindset.

How so?

The Gemara says that money that you spend in honour of Shabbos or Yom Tov, or on doing a mitzvah, is not taken out of the livelihood that was allocated to you at Rosh Hashana. So we have to realise that whatever challenge we face in life – everything is from Hashem, even if we don’t understand why we have to go through it, and that it is ultimately for our good. One shouldn’t think that they would be in a better financial position if it were not for our service of Hashem – that if I just could work on Shabbos, or skip Pesach, I would be ok. Whatever we spend on mitzvot we get reward for in the next world, but more than that money spent in the service of Hashem is regarded as Hashem’s expenses. Our tradition is that this expenditure is paid for by Hashem! It’s not coming out of the money allocated to you at Rosh Hashana, it is extra money you wouldn’t have if not for these mitzvot!

What about business ethics. Can we go into competition with another Jew?

The halacha allows for free competition and even encourages it, as long as it is fair and honest. You can’t draw down more parnassa from Hashem by doing anything that is not allowed, or living in conflict with Torah values and laws.

But surely this competition takes away from someone else’s parnassa?

The Gemara debates the ethics of free market competition, and concludes that it is halachically permissible provided that one does not engage in unfair or dishonest business strategies. One of the reasons given is that since everything comes from Hashem, it is impossible to take away somebody else’s livelihood. The Gemara goes as far as to praise free competition as the way of ensuring the best prices and quality for consumers. Today, the effectiveness of the free market is unquestioned in the world, and our great Sages of the Talmud established that thousands of years ago already.

So how do we stay positive in tough financial times?

An important guiding principle in our lives is that livelihood comes from Hashem and we have to view Him as the source. Davening is an important part of it, but we also have to put effort into our mitzvoth and sometimes that involves financial effort. Our sages tell us that we don’t rely on miracles – so we have to work to the best of our ability. Hashem brings blessing down into the world through our actions, and when we don’t act, then we are asking Him to put that parnassa money into our bank account through supernatural means, and it definitely doesn’t work like that. On the other hand, after we have put in our efforts, we must believe that everything comes from Hashem. So it’s about working hard and then giving over the results of that effort to Hashem, accepting our situation with the faith. Livelihood is one of the areas that tests our faith in the deepest possible way.